


Forging the most everlasting familial ties

by Hellishhoundour



Series: Novelisation of the Dream SMP [1]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Alternative Universe - Minecraft, Angst, Baby TommyInnit, Battle, Dave | Technoblade and Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, Family Dynamics, Fighting, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Suicide, Other, Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), just vibing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:41:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27994686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hellishhoundour/pseuds/Hellishhoundour
Summary: One day Phil is completely lonely. Forever bound lonely by this island. But now he has three children!orSleepy Bois origin story!(Don't judge I'm bad at summaries)
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Series: Novelisation of the Dream SMP [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2050383
Kudos: 94





	1. Welcome to the worst place on Earth!

**Author's Note:**

> Tommyinnit Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil's life basically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tommyinnit Part 1

Solar rays cascaded through the openings of the grey clouds, leaving their warm presence to illuminate the cold land below. Pigs, sheep and cows scurried onto the hills, grazing on the grass that was once the territory of the monsters of the night.

A man glided above the voluptuous cotton clouds that revealed the tinges of his protruding purple wings. Strands of blonde hair embraced his cheekbones as his blue eyes stared off into the distance. The man wore a peculiar bucket hat with green and white stripes ascending to the rims A brown trench coat clung onto his shoulders whilst the tail-end gracefully flowed in the wind, which a dark green unfastened belt clanged together creating an uneven metallic melody. He dawned a lime-coloured button-up shirt and black trousers, which also had a belt but instead was fastened together to hold up his article of clothing.

He scanned the land below, caught in the web of his own thoughts as he landed on top of the mountain peak, to again glare at the colossal landscape.

This land was feared by many. This land caused so many deaths among peers and brothers that he had forgotten the mere concept of that word. **FEAR**. The hopeful tidings of that specific euphoria are the catalyst for many naive men to step foot onto this land and scavenge through the tainted soil for ancient artefacts and affluent treasures. To gain praise and fulfilment for doing the impossible was how this domain ensnared them into its a mist that surrounded this island, only to pick them apart one-by-one and swallow them up in its stomach to sustain it until it's next meal.

Especially, since each person was born with three lives. Each was a proper feast for the land.

Contrary to popular belief, the appetite for this land was always satisfied. Unlike other lands, this hellscape's mother nature was more akin to being a father abyss than anything else.

For one, the monsters wherefore lurked in the dark caves and would leave those caverns at the dead of night, would spawn infinitely and become more powerful compared to their counterparts from other lands across the globe. Yes, in other parts of the world the monsters still spawned and were still indeed dangerous, however, on this island the monsters were heavily suited up to the point where even having iron tools was just not enough to keep them away.

This island was called Hardcore Island. Not very creative but was fitting as when you placed one foot on that cursed land, you would instantly be killed in a matter of days. You can see that not many tourists came to this place. The fear of being enclosed in the mist was horrifying to them. That’s why most of this island feels desolate and the pregnant silence almost could suffocate you. It was either you die by a monster or by yourself.

Phil had witnessed many of his brethren sink into the soil of the polluted Earth. Many skeletal fragments littered this island and the odour of blood was pungent to newcomers. But, Phil had become nose blind to the scent and had become more tolerant of the rotten flesh that crunched under his shoes each time he walked through each biome. Tolerance was key to surviving in this environment. 

The tolerance Phil had finely constructed over the numerous years would be observed by many beyond the gigantic ocean as psychotic and callous. Except, that's the only way to survive, only the cold-blooded and stoic figures existed long enough that they had managed to frighten the monsters that were usually instinctively careless.

Phil was perceived as the few percentages. All of his life was wasted away on this island. Eighteen years! 

He could’ve easily left by now. He had all the equipment to escape the clutches of the fog cage. hell! he could do it right now if he wanted to but something kept him here.

Maybe it was the feeling of adrenaline that pumped through his system when he was fighting the monsters. Maybe it was the pure joy he felt when he realised that he has survived on this island since he was a child. Maybe in some cruel way, this is his only home. His only safe place. His only refuge.

In some cruel way. He would be nothing if he left this place.

Phil didn't know the details on whether he was born on this island or he was brought here considering the fact that he had spent his entire life within these borders. He had never met his parents and he has always believed that they abandoned him here. To rot. Like all the rest. To join the corpses that slept beneath this land. However, for a while, he had a friend who accompanied him during the worst period of his life.

Childhood.

If you even want to call it that.

The fragile state of a child’s body is a prime target within this climate. Many predators, animals and humans alike, preyed on innocent souls like savages. Ideally an easy target for them but an initial fear for us. Every turn someone was directing their beady eyes and smelling their snivelling noses in minor’s lives like the plague they are.

However, his friend made it bearable.

Together they thrived on this island. Hand-in-hand they travelled through the most gruesome of scenes, fought together in the bloodiest and exhausting of battles and laughed together in the most comforting of moments.

They both expressed their vulnerability with one another as if they were brothers.

Once, when Phil was just a teenager, he started to sprout his purple angel-wings from his shoulder blades. Agonising pain pervaded his consciousness, he would rather have a sword pierce him through his chest than go through growing out his wings again.

Despite this, with a playful smile and a hand on Phil’s shoulder, his friend never left his side. Even if there was a chance that his cries and screams would alert the predators, his friend never left his side. Even if there was a chance that the stench of his own liquids would reach the noses of the monsters lurking at night, his friend never left his side.

His friend even laughed and told him he looked like a fallen angel from one of the books he was reading. He said it was fitting as this island stripped him of any decency and moral compassion for those who laid lifeless.

However, something changed in his friend's demeanour. He would constantly utter to himself in an alarming tone. He would incessantly fidget and whimper at the slightest of noises. The feathered man tried to communicate with him, he offered his friend aid in ciphering all of his intrusive thoughts, to figure out how to make them vanish. However, it would only end in his friend lashing out and isolating himself further into his room. The sobs echoed through their chambers and it was unbearable for Phil to listen to.

Phil had concluded that his friend’s mind had become too feeble and harrowing for him to bear, and at that, he waved a final goodbye to the audience just before the curtains were about to close, and took a leap to fly towards the skies above. Phil always dreamed that he had reached heaven, finally escaping the island to find peace and solace.

_Maybe he should leave just like him?_

That question popped into his brain multiple times, but nothing materialised from it. It came as a constant parting thought that would slip away in the dark depths of his mind. He blamed it on his loneliness.

Back to reality, he turned towards the lush green jungle. Fiercely, the tall trees cascaded towards the blue heaven, provoking elongated strings of drooping vines to reach the ground below, where long pieces of bamboo bulged from the coarse dirt, as if like spikes.

From them, Phil could hear the soft cries of panda’s crunching on bamboo sticks and echoes of chapping parrots singing their beautiful melodies in unison. Likewise, from his vision he could spot yellow and brown markings of a smaller creature, prowling around in the perfect camouflage grass.

Sweat poured from the blonde’s forehead making his wrist to be brought up towards his head and wash away the beads of liquid that conjugated together in small groups. The humidity was unbearable. Even worse on this Godforsaken island but Phil wouldn’t know that of course.

The winged man continued his path through the jungle until his gaze found a mossy stone structure that was steadily falling apart, the walls had started to cave in and the vines covered the building, hiding it from any onlookers. Phil placed his hand onto the walls as if testing the keeper of time. Structures like this one were placed throughout the island. Stories of an ancient time interested the man. He found books and scriptures that would describe a civilisation on this island before the greed of monsters and man took over. _What a shame…_

Intrigue clouded his sense as inside the temple unreadable hieroglyphs that painted the walls. He especially was interested in a specific carving on the mossy wall. It was a mould of a golden crown that laid betwixt a man’s head, it seemed to glow ominously as a wicked smile was sculpted onto the man’s face.

Brutality was the only thing that Phil could fathom in the man’s demeanour.

Next to the man was another with a sword that laid a blood trail along the floor whilst a sense of heartbreak infested his face. Maybe he was betrayed?

Phil then assumed there was supposed to be another man beside him but the remnants of the man seemed to be long gone, leaving just a tear track on the side of his face. Sadness and loss?

As if his body was on auto-pilot, he smoothed over the half cut-off face’s cheek as if he was trying to console or comfort the man, trying to wipe away the tears that had long been shed decades ago. What Phil discovered had seemed to be a family unit of some sort. What Phil could speculate were three brothers or friends, each with different traits than the last.

The man huffed as he stepped away taking in the whole image, which he scanned graciously inspecting every detailed carved by a knife into these walls. However, Phil would never know what they meant and gave up trying in the end, opting to step out of the temple to feel the harsh sunburn on his pale skin once more.

Suddenly, swishing from the shrubbery interrupted his engrossment of the origins of the temple. He should’ve dismissed it altogether for this jungle inhabits a lot of species of animal, but all of his senses screamed that something wasn’t right. He drew his netherite sword from its carrier and pointed at the bushes, his legs slowly spread apart and lowering his back as to establish a fighting stance.

For a while, he embraced the stillness. Being always aware of his surroundings; He has always had a right to be anxious in this place. Without warning, three men in diamond armour escaped from the bushes. Two with diamond swords and one with a diamond axe and shield. They all simultaneously launched themselves towards Phil, intending to impair him.

The first one to attack swung their sword into Phil’s kneecaps, seemingly trying to disable so the other two could finish him off. Unknowing to them, Phil memorised their fighting techniques from previous encounters and sprang upwards to evade the blade and created distance before propelling his sword into the man’s heart.

The man released a final cry of agony prior to his body becoming numb.

The second one to attack took advantage of Phil’s predicament, that being having his sword lodged into the first man’s heart, and instead tried to carve his blade into Phil’s spine. A lacklustre move in Phil's opinion. The winged man sighed and dropped his sword, which left the first man’s body to sink onto the floor, then preceding to remove his axe from its scabbard. With all his strength he revolved around and embedded his axe into his forehead, discharging a crunching sound from the man's lips before him inevitably joining his fellow teammate onto the ground.

The last man took a more intelligent approach and raised his shield, injunction, Phil brought his shield out as well. For a moment, they both stared each other down.

A sliver of hope developed inside of the winged man because Phil thought that maybe the man to save himself the embarrassment of a slow and painful death. But, in the end, he brought his axe up and slammed it into Phil’s shield.

Maybe expecting it to break but it didn’t happen because it was fully enchanted. Phil murmured before quickly knocking the man over by sinking his body onto the floor and swinging his left beneath him, to which the winged man watched him stumble to then crash onto the floor. Inescapably, losing his axe in the process to Phil.

Without a second thought, the man made the decision to run away, which Phil didn't follow after. Instead, he lifted the fellow's axe to investigate the crimson fabric that was attached to the handle. There was a caduceus emblem painted onto the cloth but there was a sinister undertone, the once benevolent angel wings were altered into malevolent bat wings and the rod, that once shined a golden hue, emitted an ominous dark knife. 

Instead of a symbol of health, it was now a symbol of poison. This was the symbol the King Lucifer, the king that ruled the entire Hardcore Island. Those men were obedient for the king's cause, like the flock of sheep they all were.

The empire consisted of men who do his every bidding, including stripping any villages or civilisations that even remotely wanted to set themselves apart from the king's domination. He and his men were heavily involved in the killing of innocent lives who were willing enough to dare breathe on this land.

He was a nasty individual.

Phil had run away from him for years. King Lucifer and his goons chased him around the place and ambushed him at every corner. The only reason Phil could fathom why he did this because they could sell him for a high profit. Hybrids were marketable around the world, not just on this island. But also this trade was filled with hypocrisy as hybrids were feared and discriminated each day of their lives. It was an irrational fear built up during the many decades. It stupid fear that held no ground.

As you can tell, Phil is some kind of bird hybrid that made him look generally like a fallen angel. Phil didn’t know what an actual fallen angel looked like but from the scriptures he read, it was the conclusion he was drawn to.

Depending on genetics, you can just one characteristic or many characteristics. Phil was lucky in that fact as he had only been given the ability, to fly, which was integral to his survival since he was a teenager. He could easily fly at night without the hassle of mobs or men trying to kidnap him or kill him.

Phil huffed as he threw the piece of fabric away before squatting, spreading his wings as to take flight when abruptly he heard a cry.

In normal circumstances, the man would ignore it because some monsters were smart enough to mimic noises that would attract unsuspecting travellers into their grasp but something lured him towards it.

Maybe it was Phil being bored. Maybe it was Phil being plain stupid. But something about the cry was off.

Cautiously, he crept back through the jungle and arrived facing an oak-wooded creek. Many of the branches were erratically elongated until they managed to form a type of circular structure as well as an enigmatic arch that enticed the blonde into its hold. 

Vibrant flora littered the soil below him, gently caressing his shoes. They all marinated Phil’s eardrums with the soft humming from the wind just as the firefly’s tender yellow hues danced along the tree trunks. The fragrance that entered the adult’s nostrils was hypnotic as he knelt down and inhaled most of the wood’s wonders.

Phil compared it to a Fairy Tale.

Phil almost forgot about the cry. But then the sound started again, instead of a cry of pain it was a muffled cry.

The winged man scanned his surroundings when his eyes fell upon the squirming of something within the bushes, he strode towards it and knelt to take a better look.

Long and behold.

A baby.

A baby with what looked like growing blonde hair and chromatic blue eyes that stared back at him. Its face and clothing were completely enveloped with dirt.

A moment of silence.

A pregnant silence.

Then a cry again.

The baby started to make grabby hands as it reached for his wings and pulled at them. Giggling and laughing. Phil didn’t know what he had gotten himself into.

Phil scanned around the area to look for the baby’s parent but was met instead with a bloodied carcass of what seemed to be a woman, with a skeletal arrow piercing her right eye. A baby bottle gently placed in her hand.

Unfortunately, they had gotten to her first.

The bucket-hat man reasoned with himself. He thought about maybe killing the baby as painless as possible so it would live a happy life in the afterlife as of opposed to this hellscape. Baby's only have one life anyway. However, the loneliness was depravity on his heart, teasing it just enough with pressure to be a prolonged phantom pain. It devoured him alive, swallowing every ounce of hope he had yet to spare, it feasted upon any happiness Phil had felt, leaving behind just an emotionless human body.

His loneliness was bitter and selfish.

“You lonely little fella?” he asked, earning a high pitched squeal, Phil replied with a soft smile.

In the end, he picked up the bottle and baby delicately and pulled them into his embrace, slowly swaying the baby so could find rest. It smiled back and giggled before closing its eyes. The man smirked and promptly flew in the direction of his house.


	2. A baby's cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil just trying to look after a baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tommyinnit Part 2

The crescent moon illuminated the ground with its glow, creating pockets of sequin lights that were beautifully sewn into the night sky above. Many creatures of the night settled onto their territory and prowled, trying to find any stragglers that dared to even step onto their land. From the painted atmosphere Phil glided swiftly in the direction of his home. In his arms laid a baby that was gently cooing and giggling every time the man’s wings came into its view.

Phil was so grateful for having the asset of flying. It was less time-consuming and required no effort for him. This luxury allowed him to eschew himself from any monsters and normal men because they didn't have the same ability that he did. Sometimes he would mock them when he was particularly feeling chaotic.

Eventually, Phil started to spot the silhouette of his base. His whole chest was illuminated by torch-lights, for the purpose of petrifying monsters away from his high-tech home, in addition, specks of red shone through the over the apparent light source highlighting the mechanisms of the Redstone dust scatter around the area. The sound of pistons retracting and extending every second welcomed him before he could land in front of the door of the stone brick base.

He quickly scurried into the bathroom while he started removing the baby’s filthy clothing and putting them into the washing basket for later cleaning, then returning with new woolly clothing that he freshly cut from sheep to fit the small infant.

After he walked into his room, he stepped to the side of his bed and softly placed the small sleeping bundle onto his pillow. Then he hastily moved towards the storage area and plucked out from the shelves as many blankets as he could and wrapped them around the baby like a burrito before leaving him to sleep upon his bed.

He smiled and turned away from the door and followed the hallway into the kitchen. Unexpectedly, soft meows echoed against the black and white tiled flooring, startling Phil just as he hopped back. From the source were two cats, one with a ginger coat and one with a black and white tuxedo coat, "Oh nether! You guys scared me!"

He quickly recuperated and took the meat from the fridge, chopped it up with a meat cleaver, heated it in a pan and poured the contents into the two metallic bowls, placing them before the two animals.

“Here you go Pog and Champ!” Both cats raced towards their respective bowls and devoured the contents inside them.

Phil seemed content for a moment.

Then he realised something.

He realised that he’s going to have to provide the baby nutrients. And babies normally get their nutrients from drinking breastmilk, which he isn’t a woman and hasn’t been pregnant. _WHERE THE HELL AM I GOING TO FIND BREASTMILK?_

Maybe he can make it.

_How do you make baby formula?_

Quickly, he sprinted in the direction of his library room, containing ancient scriptures, literature and some useless books that he found. When he entered, the silted shelves accommodated row after row after row of neatly lined up books, which had their spines facing outwards. He would constantly promise himself he wasn’t a hoarder every time he walked into this room.

Rummaging through his many books, he found one that caught his attention. The book had pastel colours of blue, yellow and pink, and a bubbly title stating: _Baby care_.

Scanning the index before flicking through some of the pages, he ultimately derived one that had information on baby formula. It read: _Purified cow’s milk and casein as a protein source, a blend of vegetable oils as a fat source, lactose as a carbohydrate source, a vitamin-mineral mix._

Soon the man thought that the baby would awaken from its slumber and ask for food, so with that thought, he shuffled towards storage again, with the book in hand and looked for those specific items.

He knew he probably had to make some from scratch, which wasn’t a problem but he remembered stealing lactose and casein from a random guy’s abandoned base. The man's base was completely ransacked to the point where it held no value in the winged man's eyes. However, two items surprised Phil: lactose and casein.

At the time he didn’t know why such a man would have those two substances and the lonely man took it for himself, but now it revealed the sad truth that he had a baby of his own.

Finding the substance and grabbing it from the shelf, he ventured out of the room and made his way towards his kitchen, which was oddly clean since there would be piles of pots and pans littered around the sink.

He deposited the two jars full of powder onto the side and left to fly to his secret cow farm. Promptly he milked them into a metallic bucket that he had found next to the pen and flown back.

Two minutes passed and he began the milk purifying process, which included slowly heating the milk while stirring then placing it in a bowl filled with ice water. After he mixed, the lactose, casein powder, vegetable oil from his kitchen cabinets and random vitamin minerals all together to create the baby formula. When done, he placed it into the refrigerator and wiped the sweat from his brows.

As the baby was sleeping soundly, he thought that he could continue on with his daily routine, which consisted of checking if all his Redstone contraptions were running smoothly and to tend to all of his inhumane farms. However, a boisterous shrieking of the baby caused him to completely abandon that idea and made his way towards his bedroom.

When he arrived the baby was awake, kicking and screaming for food probably. The baby’s face was completely red and scrunched up, causing snot running down the side of its face, “Hey! Hey! I got you, fella!”

Phil removed the baby from the warm covers and dashed in the direction of the fridge, which he made reassuring noises along the way and bobbed his body up and down so the baby would quiet down.

He opened the fridge door and brought the baby bottle, that he had found from its mother's hand, and rinsed it in the sink before wiping it clean. Then he snagged the container that he had just made and poured it into a baby bottle.

Slowly, he warmed it up until it was lukewarm and pressed it up against the baby’s lips, which the baby happily accepted. The tears just became a distant memory as the baby happily gurgled.

The feathered man twisted his body away from the refrigerator and gently let his body slip onto the floor, revaluating his life decisions as he questioned how his life got to this.

Just early today he was a lone wolf. He was never the parental type but a calling inside of him reached his heart and possessed him into taking the baby with him. A force outside source of his own body. An unknown entity that Phil couldn't get rid of.

His loneliness of course!

Sooner or later, the baby started to repel the bottle away from him, confirming that it was done eating. Lightly, he situated the bottle onto the side of the kitchen sink and walked towards his room again, wrapping him in blankets once more and finally laying him to rest.

Phil rubbed his eyes and yawned, it was currently midnight and he hadn’t caught up on any of his previous all-nighters.

At that moment, the man realised that he didn’t actually know the gender of the child so sneakily he checked.

A boy.

Curiosity struck him as he also realised that the youngster probably had a name, but it didn’t matter now. His mother is dead and wouldn’t be able to provide the feathered man with it.

He sighed and started to configure himself around the bundle that held the baby inside, he closed his eyes gently and promised himself that he would think of a name tomorrow but first he needed to catch some sleep.

* * *

Brilliant gold and orange hues bled like fire in the east over the rivers and beyond the base. The first slither of the sun peeked over the skyline in a radiant, white form. Gradually it raised, a defined circle in a vibrant backdrop.

Upon waking, Phil burrowed himself into the warm, soft sheets. He rubbed the remainders of sleep from his eyes and gazed out at the horizon from outside the window; its vivid light extended across a rosy sky.

During the night, he tossed and turned, determined to find sleep, but just couldn’t find the right position. A lingering haze of sleep sat somewhere at the back of his mind but was too far away to reach, floating in the pool of his own thoughts.

For a moment everything was silent and beautiful. Peacefulness was a rare occurrence. Only the privileged on this island and those who came from the outside could ever experience this tranquillity. It reminded Phil that this place sometimes, ignoring all the atrocities on this island, held a beauty unlike any other.

He smiled to himself and snuggled into the sheets once more. Until the crying started. Immediately, the crashing reality of yesterday threw Phil completely off the rails to dive right back into Dad mode.

The baby boy’s loud whaling sound vibrated through the walls, echoing around the base. It was hard to believe it came from such a tiny creature, he desperately wanted to go back to sleep and ignore it but it was impossible. It sounded like the screeching of an angry cat, only growing harsher and louder as Phil began to pick him up.

“shhhhhh, it’s alright,” Phil cooed.

The feathered man looked down at the baby’s balled up red face, eyes frantically searching the room for Phil’s familiar face, and when the small beady eyes landed on him the crying diminished and the baby boy giggled as if waking the older man up was a joke.

Phil sighed and walked out of the room into the kitchen and began to bottle feed him more baby formula before settling the baby down onto the side.

Once again the cats Pog and Champ left their sleeping stations situated on the window sill and scurried towards the baby, even jumping up onto the sides to greet him. Nuzzling their noses into the infant's face.

Even though they’re not supposed to jump onto the counter it was comforting knowing the cats were wary of the baby's presence.

Phil sighed again out of exhaustion, prominent black bags aligned themselves under his eyeballs and the veins stuck out like a saw thumb.

The man weighed out his oppositions on whether he should bring the baby with him while he did daily tasks, to keep an eye on him, but it was too dangerous. But if he left all those Redstone contraptions running without maintenance, some might explode and alert Pillagers of his secret base’s whereabouts, which would put the baby in more danger.

Finally, making his decision, he quickly cut up some wool sheets he possessed and made a tiny onesie for the small creature before he gently lifted him away from the side and left the base. In his arms, the baby squealed with joy as Phil stretched his wings out and took flight.

When he saw his iron golem farm, he landed next to it and settled the baby onto the glass surface. Checking one more time on the boy, Phil turned back to his work and meticulously investigated the machinery until it was deemed safe and functioning at its full potential.

This was repeated with every other machine Phil reviewed, whilst the baby made ahh-ing noises in what the feathered man considered was in admiration, well that’s what he hoped anyway.

After that his tasks were completed, he made his way towards the animal farms. Gradually, the little one had grown uninterested in what Phil was doing and had begun whining, hence why the elder believed that letting the baby meet his farm animals would intrigue the bored child. 

So when the small boy heard the moos of the cows, his eyes sparkled, his legs started to kick violently and he made loud coohing sounds, much to the man’s delight. Happily, the baby played with the cows, which mainly included the large mammals nuzzling their snouts into the boy’s stomach causing him to squeal merrily.

The man continued with tending to all the farm animals, his eyes catching the baby every time it made an adorable sound. He couldn’t deny the desire of his face muscles pulling at the corner of his lips.

Once he was done, he pulled the child away from the cows, which he wasn’t too happy about, and raised his wings to take flight. When he reached the base the man made his way to the enchantment room.

Various shelves of purple gleaming books were scattered amongst walls, stretching upwards until they reached the ceiling. One particular book floated on top of an obsidian block, the corners of the square unit were coated in diamond. Occasionally, the book flicked pages as letters materialised around it, floating gracefully around the room.

The baby gurgled as he tried to grasp the ancient letters with his stubby fingers but came out with nothing. Again Phil couldn't help but smile in amusement at the little bundle of joy, “are you trying to catch the floating letters, mate?”

The baby just squealed in response.

That’s all Phil needed really.

He planted him down onto the floor this time and let him do whatever he pleased. Finally being freed from the feathered man’s arms, he instantly crawled in the direction of the enchantment table and began trying to swipe the symbols, whilst Phil added his latest enchantments onto his weapons.

Each time he enchanted one of his weapons he placed it onto the floor next time. In hindsight, he made his biggest regret whilst simultaneously improving on himself. 

Soon, the baby grew tired of trying to snatch ancient lettering and crawled his way in the direction of the items that Phil positioned onto the floor. Curiosity was a dangerous thing, especially for a baby.

The small boy lifted his hand towards a sword that was recently placed on the ground, which the shine of the blade enthralled the baby, and unconsciously he smoothed it with his fingers. A Sharp agonising noise erupted beside Phil as he quickly turned his body towards the source.

There was crimson blood leaking out of the fingers of the baby, completely coating the once stubbly hand with a phallic metallic odour.

The man gasped then quickly jumped into action. He picked up the small boy and sprinted towards the toilet. He turned on the faucet and rinsed the baby’s fingers, and pulled out a medical kit from the cabinets.

Phil withdrew a saline solution from the kit and poured it onto the baby’s fingers, earning a shriek, “I know it hurts but I don’t want it to get infected” he reassured him.

Then Phil pulled out gauze and carefully wrapped it around his fingers before cutting off the excess. In defeat, the man sighed and let the baby cry the pain away. He rubbed his back and cuddled him in his arms.

Inside his head, he’s berating himself for leaving the weapons on the floor knowing full well he was in the presence of a feeble heart.

Once the child’s choked sobs turned into quiet hums, Phil took the child to the kitchen first to feed him then taking him up to his room and made the same blanket bundle and encased him to wallow in the warmth of sleep. When he took a step outside the moon greeted him like an old friend.

Selene’s enchanting light enveloped Phil as if to embrace him with comfort and tranquillity. As if trying to make aware of the idea of a peaceful life that the winged man could never achieve in his lifetime.

But he had a child now. A human child that he would try to provide with a normal childhood. A childhood that never really existed for him. He would hope that one day the baby would leave this cage and approach life with a gleaming smile and an emphatic outlook.

He wanted it to stay like this forever, in the moonlight.

However, he couldn’t bear leaving anything that could harm the child. He re-entered his house and rigorously baby proofed everything. Every possible way the baby could hurt itself he promptly took care of. After, he dragged himself across the floor to his room once more and watched as the baby’s chest rise and fall in a soft rhythm.

He smiled and let his hand gracefully smooth over the small thing's forehead, “I haven’t named him yet have I…” he spoke only to himself.

Many names raced through his exhausted mind before he finally settled on one that stuck out, “Tommyinnit?”

He laughed at himself softly. The name may seem strange or bizarre to some people but to Phil it was funny, the name came from Slavic origin, which the name meant ‘child’ or ‘little man’.

He had to admit it was an amusing name and it fitted the baby perfectly, “I hope you always stay like this…”

“Tommyinnit.”


	3. First words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil contemplating whether he's a good Dad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tommyinnit Part 3

"TOMMY! DON'T HURT YOURSELF!"

The infant ignored Phil’s pleas before taking a few baby steps then falling face-first onto the floor. Tommy flared up just as he started to cry unceasingly. The older man gasped prior to smoothing his two hands under Tommy's armpits and pulling him into his tight embrace during his episode of pain.

Once Tommy’s weeping begun to filter out, Phil loosened his grip on the child to take a better look at the little one. A prominent red mark swathed his delicate skin on his forehead. The elder softly left his head to drop towards the wound and let it kiss the infant on its forehead.

Tommy jolted from his initial sadness and proceeded to squeal at Phil, unknowingly his legs kicked into the winged man’s thighs.

"That wouldn't have happened if I was helping you," the winged man uttered.

Six months passed by quickly, the same set routine carried on thoroughly. In the morning, Phil would wake up to Tommy’s crying and feed him baby food before then taking him with him whilst he did maintenance. Then he would show Tommy the farm animals before bringing him back into his base where Phil would observe him. Then, when the moon rose, he would tuck Tommy into bed and leave to do some odd chores.

During that time, Phil had come to realise that Tommy was probably a year old or at best ten months old. He attained this knowledge through the book he had snatched from his shelf previously. The various pictures of babies that the book showed, displaying the age below them, helped the elder place an age on Tommy. Even if it was slightly wrong to do that.

However, Phil didn’t try to assume Tommy’s birthday but instead marked his birthday on the day he had found him, the 9th of April because it was more personal and meaningful to him and Tommy's relationship.

Even though his mother probably would have appreciated it if he had been a bit considerate, but she was dead so what was she going to do!

Two months ago, Tommy had started to attempt to stand on his own two feet. At one time, the youngster had managed to pull himself onto his feet on his own accord in front of Phil, which nearly killed the poor old man, and handled two steps afore to toppling over.

This made Phil determined to try to teach him how to walk. Gradually, Tommy had been able to develop his leg muscles to bear waddling a few steps, but of course for only a short period of time before landing face-first into the floor. But the child was unwavering in his attempts, Phil gave him credit for that

However, next on the agenda was speaking.

Now Phil wouldn’t say that he was actively avoiding the subject. But he was. Don’t get him wrong. He would love Tommy to speak but a specific word scared him.

Dad.

It hadn’t really settled into him that he was actually a father. He couldn’t believe it. HIM! He had done a lot of bad things to people that he would rather not influence into Tommy, and bringing him up like a FATHER into this godforsaken island was the worst of Phil’s fears.

Maybe it was just that he had never really had a father before or a mother for that matter. They were only just locked memories at the back of his baby self’s head. To be locked away and never be opened again.

Constantly, Phil avoided the subject of fatherhood like the plague.

Maybe it was the commitment to that role that Phil hadn’t really fathomed since he brought home Tommy. But he had already proposed a name to him and a birthday and a home.

So maybe he was a father.

Still, the aching fear that he would not be good enough was a constant in his mind. An aching fear that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Phil sighed before recognising that Tommy had climbed out of his arms and started to happily play with his two cats, willingly letting sounds dance out of his mouth. He always seemed to try and chase the animals around the house, but it would always end up with him on the floor crying and Phil comforting him within his embrace. The elder began to realise that Tommy did it on purpose so that Tommy could twist his body in an unrealistically fast way to stare out of the window, to watch the grazing cows from across the pond.

Tommy loved the cows.

He always seemed to be fascinated by the creatures, and the cows on his farm were especially fascinated by him too. Once, the feathered man left Tommy at home because the baby boy had developed a cold. The cows noticed that he didn’t have Tommy with him and refused to eat until he would bring him with him.

You could say that Phil gave into peer pressure and had to go back to his base to get Tommy, and had to wrap a blanket thoroughly around him like a mummy, and showed him to them. After, the mammals were content and began to eat their wheat whilst beginning to nuzzle into Tommy. The infant always chirped into delight when they mooed and sometimes he would join in with them.

The feathered man would have to admit that this baby thing was going better than expected. Having been in this hellish place for most of his life, he would have thought that Tommy would have killed himself on accident by one of his contraptions or shot by a skeleton, or eaten by a zombie or spider, or blown up by a creeper, or captured by a pillager, or…

There was a lot of things that could kill him in all honesty, but here he was, with Tommy, alive, thankfully. On this particular day though, everything went wrong apparently.

It had been ages since he had gone out to gather resources for all of his machinery, which was dangerous to say the least. On this particular day, Phil decided that it was about time to go to the mines at night, whilst the gleaming moon was held high up into the sky so Tommy would be fast asleep.

The adult had revised many situations in his mind of possibilities that mobs could get in, or anyone to get in for that matter.

During the day, the man laid traps around his house in all of the nooks and crannies to avoid any situation where Tommy’s life would be put in danger. Then he made a two-way communicator, so when the baby cried it would broadcast through it so that it would indicate that Phil would have to return home.

The plan was perfect.

But how it went so wrong…

Maybe he should have registered in his head that leaving a baby at home defenceless whilst the king was after him was a bad idea.

When the fiery orb settled past the horizon, finally giving the crescent moon the land for the next twelve hours provoking the monsters to sound their hissing and moans, Phil made quick work of the mobs that lurked around the mine, then entered it, always checking if his monitor was working properly.

On entering the mine, he picked out the device one last time to ensure that he could hear noises of the sleeping baby and continued to unbuckle his pickaxe and swung it against the stone. 

The sheer intensity of the pickaxe slamming into the stone generated small specs of dust clouds that shielded his vision, the haze was hard to see through but Phil continued his excavation. Every time the winged man inhaled, the specs infested his lungs leading to a grating effect behind his throat, the taste and the sound of crumbling stone was unbearable to Phil.

He bent over sharply and hacked until the scratchy feeling would diminish, before returning to his work. He admitted to himself that he had been out of practice and therefore has grown used to not mining. Having a baby for six months made him become an old man it seemed. Even though he wasn’t THAT old…

After a while, he managed to extract ten stacks of Redstone dust, two stacks of gold and a half stack of diamonds before calling it quits. He wiped his forehead and began loading the materials into a sack and dragging them up out of the cave. The warmth of the sun rising greeted him just as he realised that Tommy hadn't cried that entire night.

Instantly, Phil knew something was wrong. Tommy would have woken up by now screaming and crying for food. He pulled out the communicator and the silence from it was deafening for the elder's eardrums.

It was weird.

Very weird.

Suspiciously weird.

This wasn’t normal.

Quickly shoving the materials into his two bags and swinging it over his shoulder, Phil raised his wings and flapped aggressively as to not waste a moment on something trivial, even escaping his desperate thoughts to make sure that Tommy was safe.

For the trees, it was just a gusting chorus, a song so confidently sung that they swayed gently to the melody. It tousled his blond strands of hair and made his eyes squint because it tried to dry out his eyeballs.

The wind pushed against his body, as if attempting to postpone Phil’s arrival, but the adrenalin that was coursing through his veins made the older man invincible and uncaring of the barrier and flew quicker.

Just as he made it back, the grip on his two sacks softened, leaving them to fall onto the ground, regarding the fact that his door seemed to be in shambles on the floor. The bucket-hat man rushed into the house. Two screeches of Pog and Champ alerted his ears as they travelled down from the upstairs.

The thunderous stomps of his own two feet echoed through the house as he pushed the door open to reveal piles of sheets thrown onto the floor and two terrified cats, but no baby in sight. Phil frantically threw the remaining covers off of the bed, trying hopelessly to convince himself that the baby wasn’t kidnapped.

 _Maybe he had walked off_ , he thought.

_But he can’t stand for more than three minutes and normally I would hear the cooing sounds through the communicator and how would he manage to climb off the bed. In addition, a baby couldn’t lodge an axe through a door._

Agitated, Phil sprinted into each room and hallway shouting, “TOMMY!” But received no reply.

Anxiety grew in the depths of his stomach, a fizzling sensation neared to the boiling point. A seething rage enveloped him when he couldn’t find his bundle of joy. White knuckles formed from clenching his fists too harshly, and he gritted teeth to remain silent and not scream to the rooftop, his hunched form exuded an animosity that was like acid - burning, slicing, potent.

It had been a while now since he had experienced such anger.

Swiftly, he left the base. Spread his wings so he could scan the land below him. Looking for any signs of movement within the bushes. Luckily, he lived in a field so it wouldn’t be too hard.

Minutes passed and Phil considered calling it quits.

Maybe he should have just killed Tommy when he first laid eyes on him. Damn his selfishness. Taking another soul that could have thrived in the afterlife instead of suffering this eternal hell. Everyone around him disappeared anyway so why didn’t he just end the poor soul’s life.

He sighed and slowly stretched his body, _it was good while it lasted…_

Suddenly, a rustling sound reached his ears. As if a light switch had flickered off, it flickered back on.

He flew down onto the ground outside the entrance of a dark forest and drew his sword. Step-by-step he crept through the dark coloured trees. The silence was heavy, his heartbeat vibrated through his eardrums. It was even but rapid.

A rustling again.

Phil paused.

Then a voice.

“We got him now,” the voice chuckled, “We got his baby, he’ll be after us soon.”

The words the man muttered stung, fuelling the fire that burned inside of him. Every violating phrase he spoke was like gasoline to him, his fists began to clench again and his jaw rooted. The feathered man quickly shielded himself behind a tree before taking a peak towards the sounds. Reality hit him hard. It was the man that ran away from him when he was in the jungle, and Tommy was placed half-hazard on the grass floor, which was previously rained upon.

That was it. That was then Phil exploded with anger, the primaeval instincts that he had caged was finally released in a euphoric nature.

The man caught the sound of Phil’s stomps and stepped back, gripping his axe handle whilst smiling, “knew you would come.”

The man swung his axe down upon the feathered man, Phil placed his palm onto the side of his blade and propelled it under the beard of the axe. Pushing onto it with his two hands.

They stayed like that for a moment before the man bellowed, “You’ll pay for killing my friends!”

He reached his leg out and knocked Phil in the side, which caused the feather man to tumble onto the floor, before jumping back and bringing the axe down a second time, charging at him with all of the man's might. Recovering from the initial shock, Phil rolled away as the axe that embedded itself into the soil. He brought himself back onto his feet and sliced his arm.

Blood leaked from the man’s skin. He gripped the wound, letting a painful groan leave his lips. Phil just smirked and retorted, “You’re gonna have to try a little harder than that mate.”

The man hissed but oddly he smiled, Phil’s smirk instantly vanished as his ears caught the sounds of multiple rustles escaping from the greenery. The bucket hat man twisted his form to see men of all shapes and sizes expose themselves in the pockets of sun rays that managed to escape from the leaves of the dark oak trees.

“Shit,” was the only word that liberated itself from the elder's mouth.

Phil wasn’t quite sure if he was going to get out of this alive. There were approximately four men with swords surrounding him. Two on his right side. Two on his left. He wasn’t taking into account the man with the sliced arm as he was incapacitated for the moment.

And then there was Tommy, gurgling and awing at Phil. The innocence was a comfort for the feathered man but also brought great guilt. He was guilty of the fact that he brought such an honest creature into a world that was not suited for him.

Phil would try his absolute best but he couldn’t guarantee victory.

Immediately, the first person dashed at him with a blade in hand, swinging it into Phil’s side. Phil quickly blocked, however, the second person ambushed him from the open the winged man had unfortunately created. However, Phil swerved his leg and pushed his foot right into the man’s groin, initiating an agonising groan to leave the man's throat.

Back to the first person, he removed the sword causing Phil to be thrown off balance before trying to repeatedly jab at him. Every time Phil dodged the man's frantic blade, and then when the winged man saw an open, he twisted his body before swinging at full force into his head.

Spurts of crimson liquid enveloped his hand. He pulled the blade from the first person head and discarded him into the ground, a thud echoed in the forest. Next, the third person clutched his shield and thrusted it into Phil’s stomach, his saliva and a moan escaped the blonde's lips prior to falling back onto the soil.

Before Phil could recuperate, the fourth person was observant of the blonde man’s predicament and stabbed him. Phil frantically tried to drag his sword in front of him so he could shield himself but the fourth man was too fast. So in a flurry of panic, he blocked it with his wing.

The scarlet blood oozed down the fourth's blade, thick droplets now spattered on the floor, peeling red-stained feathers littered themselves on the floor. The wing laid in defeat at Phil’s side.

Fortunately, Phil was on an adrenaline high and recovered as the two men started to run towards him from both sides. Instinctively, the feathered man crouched, leaving them both to slice each other instead.

Standing back onto his feet, he recognised the man from his previous venture. Fear etched onto his face as he tried to scurry away like a mouse running away from a cat, “Wait hold on now-“.

Phil smiled as he took two steps forward, ignoring the burning sensation from his left-wing, then raised his sword graciously, and stabbed the man through the heart.

He mockingly pushed into the man so Phil’s head was at his right ear before whispering, “don’t ever hurt my son again…”

Grunts of agony left the man’s lips before he then laid lifeless on the floor.

Leaving him, Phil returned to the baby, who miraculously didn’t have any bloodstains on him. Gurgling and cooing Tommy raised his hands and managed to push himself upright and tried to walk towards Phil. Once he had reached his destination, Tommy bounced on the spot.

Phil chuckled before picking him up and cuddling him in his arms. Tommy opened his little mouth trying to make coherent noises, “D-D-DA.”

Astonishment filled his facial features, feeling like Tommy needed a little bit of encouragement, Phil mimicked his sounds, “Dada, can you say Dada?”

“D-D-D-D-“

“Dada?”

“Da-D-D-D,” the baby inhaled then, “D-D-Da"

**"DADA!"**


End file.
